The Business
by Caethilia Mordon
Summary: As seen through the eyes of its employees, The Business is the story of Artemis Fowl's attempt to conquer one of the most dangerous and insidious corporations the world has never known.


**This fic is adept at multitasking, as it has the ability to both tell a story- albeit in a rather strange way- and act as an exercise for me to work on writing from a character's perspective. Each section will focus on one character and their personality, hopefully in a way that makes clear the storyline.**

**I daresay a disclaimer is in order. However, I am sure that anyone involved in the fandom will be able to tell the pieces and people I made up from the pieces and people made up by the esteemed Mr. Colfer. Good day.**

**1**

_Secretary_

So. That really was the operative word, wasn't it? So. Hair, face, paper, pens and laptop _just so_. Such a peculiar word. Such a peculiar expression, too. Such words and expressions helped fill the time.

Hair, face, paper, pens and laptop just so, so employment could continue. Although that really should be "in order that employment could continue" if one was to be perfectly dull about such things.

Or should that have been "would continue"? No. Of course not. It would be impossible for employment to continue were everything not _just so_; therefore "could" could justifiably be used.

It was ten forty two in the morning of the eighth day of the fourth month. Hair, face, paper, pens and laptop, among other things, were all present in an area not found on any map, satellite picture or tattoo handily inked on the scalp of a shady arms dealer. No. Such discretion was one of the Business's more well-known aspects.

Or it would be, if anyone knew about the Business. It was often thought- no; it was very definitely _never_ thought by any of the Business's direct employees that the only person who truly understood what business the Business was in had breathed his last eight days before the first paragraph of this story. Because it was very bad conduct to think such things about the Business. It led without exception to instant termination of employment.

So, if one was to be entirely truthful, one should include "mind" in the list of things that were _just so_. Hair, face, paper, pens, laptop and mind. All _just so_, as were sundry other items and bodily parts the listing of which would be both wasteful of time and pixels.

Time passed, and a door opened. The Secretary's face did not express her surprise, although she had been nurturing a theory that the door in question was but an illusion or façade used to give the room an atmosphere more like that of a real reception. The door having proved itself a real door, with all the qualities and uses thereof, she abandoned her theory without regret. There would be other theories.

The Secretary did not show her surprise, but she savoured the sensation. Surprise was a feeling seldom experienced by direct employees of the Business. To be surprised by something was to be ill-prepared. To be ill-prepared was to be not working to one's potential, and to not be working to one's potential was sufficient grounds for unemployment.

Smile. An expression of joy or delight here employed to illustrate artificial welcome. Lips stretched and slightly parted, eyes crinkled at the edges and the wearer of the mask cursing but confident in the winning shine of whitened teeth.

"Good morning, sir," singular because bodyguards had no status in a Business meeting. Eye contact. "May I see some identification?"

The youth's eyes narrowed in a second's unintentional display of confusion before he slid a slim plastic case onto the reception desk. The case opened to reveal a screen; several deft flicks of the Secretary's fingers were enough to tell her what she needed to know.

"The Manager will see you now," she said, pointing at the door through which the visitors were to enter the meeting room. This door had never been the subject of any speculation as to its purpose. It was for entering. Nothing else.

Visitors to the Business usually left through quite a different route.

The youth's dark eyes had narrowed again, the Secretary noticed with satisfaction. Confused guests were always beneficial to Business transactions.

"I was informed that the. . . Manager . . . passed away some days ago."

Eye contact. Meaningless smile. "You were informed correctly, sir. Nevertheless, it is his wish that this meeting go ahead as scheduled."

It was obvious that the boy's curiosity had been piqued. It was equally as obvious that his formidable bodyguard's sense of Imminent Danger was rising as the man's stance changed subtly to give him a lower centre of gravity.

The Secretary watched as the two proceeded into the next room, one eagerly and one with well-founded caution. They would be surprised at what they saw in the meeting room, she was sure; despite the youth's distinguished past, what awaited him was unlike anything he had ever encountered before. Or, if he did not play his cards well, would ever see again. But that was no business of the Secretary's. She was not paid to contemplate possibilities.

So.

Hair, face, paper, pens, laptop and mind _just so_.


End file.
